Finbarr explained that he was going to be in the hospital over the Christmas break, for he needs to have an operation to remove one of his kidneys.
Baby Face says to him: "Wow. You'll be alone, away from your family."
Finbarr replied, grinning: "I know. This will be the Best Christmas Ever!"
Funny thing is, he was serious.
Showing posts with label It came from the lunchroom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label It came from the lunchroom. Show all posts
9 December 2011
25 June 2011
More tales from the lunchroom
A coworker had the following tale of anti theft deterrent and superlative police investigative skills.
The worker and his wife were in bed one night when their dog, a mastiff something mix, who slept in their room, suddenly sat up, began growling, and dashed down the stairs and immediately began barking up a storm. The coworker, assuming the dog smelt a skunk or a raccoon outside, was in no hurry to get up and see what was the matter, and had barely put on his house coat and slippers when the dog stopped barking, trotted happily upstairs, curled up and went back into a deep, satisfied doggy sleep. The coworker decided to do the same, and was soon snoring.
The next morning, the wife went downstairs while the co-worker went into the shower. He was barely wet when his wife charged into the bathroom. 'Didn't you check and see what the dog was barking at last night?" she demanded.
"No," he said. "I just thought it was a skunk or something. Why? What's the matter?"
"The back door is missing!"
The police were soon summoned to the house, where they perused the damage with a practiced eye. The coworker had yet to say anything about the barking in the night, when a police officer asked him: "Do you, by any chance, own a dog?"
"Yes," he said.
"Would he happen to be large and black?" asked the officer.
"Yes," answered the coworker.
"Ah. It's starting to come together," said the officer.
"What is?" asked the coworker.
"We have a guy in the hospital from last night," began the officer. "He said he was attacked by a black bear in the hydro field behind you house last night. He also has a record for breaking and entering."
"No way," said the coworker.
"Mmm-huh," said the officer. "He's actually quite lucky to be alive. He has a bite in his thigh that nicked an artery. He's lucky to have made it to the hospital."
"Oh no," said the coworker, scared. "Does that mean.... I mean, you're not... You're not going to put down my dog over this?"
"Why would we want to do that?" said the officer, closing his notebook. "He was attacked by a bear."
That night, the coworker stopped off at the butcher's on his way home from work, and bought some nice, thick steaks for Man's Best Friend.
The worker and his wife were in bed one night when their dog, a mastiff something mix, who slept in their room, suddenly sat up, began growling, and dashed down the stairs and immediately began barking up a storm. The coworker, assuming the dog smelt a skunk or a raccoon outside, was in no hurry to get up and see what was the matter, and had barely put on his house coat and slippers when the dog stopped barking, trotted happily upstairs, curled up and went back into a deep, satisfied doggy sleep. The coworker decided to do the same, and was soon snoring.
The next morning, the wife went downstairs while the co-worker went into the shower. He was barely wet when his wife charged into the bathroom. 'Didn't you check and see what the dog was barking at last night?" she demanded.
"No," he said. "I just thought it was a skunk or something. Why? What's the matter?"
"The back door is missing!"
The police were soon summoned to the house, where they perused the damage with a practiced eye. The coworker had yet to say anything about the barking in the night, when a police officer asked him: "Do you, by any chance, own a dog?"
"Yes," he said.
"Would he happen to be large and black?" asked the officer.
"Yes," answered the coworker.
"Ah. It's starting to come together," said the officer.
"What is?" asked the coworker.
"We have a guy in the hospital from last night," began the officer. "He said he was attacked by a black bear in the hydro field behind you house last night. He also has a record for breaking and entering."
"No way," said the coworker.
"Mmm-huh," said the officer. "He's actually quite lucky to be alive. He has a bite in his thigh that nicked an artery. He's lucky to have made it to the hospital."
"Oh no," said the coworker, scared. "Does that mean.... I mean, you're not... You're not going to put down my dog over this?"
"Why would we want to do that?" said the officer, closing his notebook. "He was attacked by a bear."
That night, the coworker stopped off at the butcher's on his way home from work, and bought some nice, thick steaks for Man's Best Friend.
30 January 2009
quotation of the day
From the Lunchroom:
Finbar, patting his stomach: "My doctor told me to watch my weight, so I put it right here where I can keep an eye on it. Some people have a six pack, I have a forty pounder."
Finbar, patting his stomach: "My doctor told me to watch my weight, so I put it right here where I can keep an eye on it. Some people have a six pack, I have a forty pounder."
17 November 2008
More Humour from the Lunchroom.
I really must stop taking part in conversations when I haven't heard the whole thing. It just causes trouble for everyone.
A case in point. The other day Finbar and Joseph were in the lunchroom talking. Finbar was planning revenge.
"My neighbours had a karaoke party," he said. "It cannot go unanswered."
"So what'll you do?" asked Joe.
"I'll have a Karaoke party in my garage," Finbar replied. "I'm getting my old Fender speakers I used to use when I was in a band out of storage and I will blast the neighbourhood."
"That's vicious," Joe said. At this point I walked in to get some water. "Was it really that bad?"
"It was the worst Karaoke I ever heard," Finbar said. He shook his head at the memory of it.
"What was?" I asked.
"A party my neighbour had last week. It was terrible."
I felt a need to contribute. "The worst karaoke I ever heard was opera karaoke. Now that was horrible."
"Opera karaoke?" he said. "Is there really such a thing?"
"Oh yes."
Finbar's face split into a horrible grin. "Perfect," he said as he rose from his seat. He pulled out his cell phone and was dialing as he left the room.
I looked at Joe. A feeling of dread was coming over me. "What was that about?" I asked. What I was thinking was: what did I just do?
Joseph told me the part I had missed.
"Oh dear," I said.
For the life of me, I can't think of what, exactly, I did wrong. But all the same, I can't escape the feeling that I should go to confession. That, and the feeling that I owe an entire neighbourhood a deep and profound apology.
A case in point. The other day Finbar and Joseph were in the lunchroom talking. Finbar was planning revenge.
"My neighbours had a karaoke party," he said. "It cannot go unanswered."
"So what'll you do?" asked Joe.
"I'll have a Karaoke party in my garage," Finbar replied. "I'm getting my old Fender speakers I used to use when I was in a band out of storage and I will blast the neighbourhood."
"That's vicious," Joe said. At this point I walked in to get some water. "Was it really that bad?"
"It was the worst Karaoke I ever heard," Finbar said. He shook his head at the memory of it.
"What was?" I asked.
"A party my neighbour had last week. It was terrible."
I felt a need to contribute. "The worst karaoke I ever heard was opera karaoke. Now that was horrible."
"Opera karaoke?" he said. "Is there really such a thing?"
"Oh yes."
Finbar's face split into a horrible grin. "Perfect," he said as he rose from his seat. He pulled out his cell phone and was dialing as he left the room.
I looked at Joe. A feeling of dread was coming over me. "What was that about?" I asked. What I was thinking was: what did I just do?
Joseph told me the part I had missed.
"Oh dear," I said.
For the life of me, I can't think of what, exactly, I did wrong. But all the same, I can't escape the feeling that I should go to confession. That, and the feeling that I owe an entire neighbourhood a deep and profound apology.
20 October 2008
Vengeance is a dish best served with pepperoni
Warning: the following is not very Catholic.
One of the few things I like about my job on Monday mornings is hearing what my co workers were up to over the weekends. Today one of them- I'll call him Finbar- had a good yarn.
It began a few weeks ago when he and his wife- let's call her Sheherezade- were invited to one of her friends for a dinner party. The friend- named Betty or Barbara or any other name beginning with a 'b'- hates Finbar, and often tries to convince Sheherezade to leave him. Finbar's response is to make himself appear even worse in Betty's eyes. (Before I continue, I should note that Betty is rather well off. Her main source of income is to marry ugly rich men, have one of their children, and then clean them out on child support and alimony.) Finbar at one point had her convinced he was happily employed manning the drive through window at McDonald's and had no desire for any other job. Betty stepped up her campaign to convince Sheherezade to leave Finbar.
About a week before the dinner Betty called Sheherezade to ask if there were any foods that should be avoided at the dinner.
"I can eat anything," Sheherezade said. "But Finbar is allergic to shellfish."
"But you're OK?" Betty asked.
The night of the dinner party came and Finbar and Sheherezade went to Betty's house and found that it was a seafood dinner. There were crab legs and shrimp cocktails, clam chowder and oysters, lobster and a host of other very expensive food, exquisitely prepared, and absolutely all of it were things Finbar could not eat. Sheherezade was furious. "Let's go," she told Finbar.
"It's alright," he said. "Let's stay." At that point Sherezade's thoughts were somewhere between 'uh-huh' and 'uh-oh'. Finbar was most likely up to something, but she was too angry to care.
The only thing in the house Finbar could touch was a bottle of Scotch, which he took for himself. The tumbler that was near the scotch was too small for Finbar, so he went into the kitchen and got himself a beer stein instead. As he pounded back his scotch, one of the other husbands of another friend of Betty's was introduced to Betty's current fiance, who is apparently the ugliest of the lot. "Boy, you must be loaded," the husband said to the fiance. Finbar choked on his scotch. Apparently, he wasn't the only husband who hated Betty.
There was one last guest to arrive, but dinner could not wait. Finbar excused himself and went to the bathroom, ostensibly to wash his hands before dinner. When he came out, he took his seat at the table and stared at his empty plate while he drank his scotch. But then, thirty minutes or less later, there was a knock at the door. "It must be the last guest," said Betty, starting to rise.
"Don't worry, Betty," said Finbar, rising. "You're eating. I'll get it." Finbar disappeared from the table and disappeared down the hall, and returned a few minutes later carrying five grand slam pizzas. "It seemed rude to just order for myself," he explained. "So I got some for everyone."
He put the pizzas on the sideboard behind his seat, took out a slice, dropped it onto the fine china plate, and began eating it with the fine silver knife and fork, not looking up, but knowing everyone in the now silent room was staring at him. A moment later, there was another knock at the door. "Could someone else get that?" he said. "I'm eating."
Betty went to open the door, and came back a few moments later with the late guest. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Everything looks and smells delicious. Is that pizza?"
At that point one of the other husbands laid his knife and fork down on his lobster and pushed his plate away, and turned to face Finbar. "You got any meatlovers pizza down there?"
Finbar looked down the table and saw Betty's lip trembling as she tried to fight back the tears over her now ruined dinner party. As he chewed his pizza and drained his beer stein of scotch, he could only reflect that life was good.
He doesn't expect to ever be asked back. He doesn't care. For the moment, neither does Sheherezade.
One of the few things I like about my job on Monday mornings is hearing what my co workers were up to over the weekends. Today one of them- I'll call him Finbar- had a good yarn.
It began a few weeks ago when he and his wife- let's call her Sheherezade- were invited to one of her friends for a dinner party. The friend- named Betty or Barbara or any other name beginning with a 'b'- hates Finbar, and often tries to convince Sheherezade to leave him. Finbar's response is to make himself appear even worse in Betty's eyes. (Before I continue, I should note that Betty is rather well off. Her main source of income is to marry ugly rich men, have one of their children, and then clean them out on child support and alimony.) Finbar at one point had her convinced he was happily employed manning the drive through window at McDonald's and had no desire for any other job. Betty stepped up her campaign to convince Sheherezade to leave Finbar.
About a week before the dinner Betty called Sheherezade to ask if there were any foods that should be avoided at the dinner.
"I can eat anything," Sheherezade said. "But Finbar is allergic to shellfish."
"But you're OK?" Betty asked.
The night of the dinner party came and Finbar and Sheherezade went to Betty's house and found that it was a seafood dinner. There were crab legs and shrimp cocktails, clam chowder and oysters, lobster and a host of other very expensive food, exquisitely prepared, and absolutely all of it were things Finbar could not eat. Sheherezade was furious. "Let's go," she told Finbar.
"It's alright," he said. "Let's stay." At that point Sherezade's thoughts were somewhere between 'uh-huh' and 'uh-oh'. Finbar was most likely up to something, but she was too angry to care.
The only thing in the house Finbar could touch was a bottle of Scotch, which he took for himself. The tumbler that was near the scotch was too small for Finbar, so he went into the kitchen and got himself a beer stein instead. As he pounded back his scotch, one of the other husbands of another friend of Betty's was introduced to Betty's current fiance, who is apparently the ugliest of the lot. "Boy, you must be loaded," the husband said to the fiance. Finbar choked on his scotch. Apparently, he wasn't the only husband who hated Betty.
There was one last guest to arrive, but dinner could not wait. Finbar excused himself and went to the bathroom, ostensibly to wash his hands before dinner. When he came out, he took his seat at the table and stared at his empty plate while he drank his scotch. But then, thirty minutes or less later, there was a knock at the door. "It must be the last guest," said Betty, starting to rise.
"Don't worry, Betty," said Finbar, rising. "You're eating. I'll get it." Finbar disappeared from the table and disappeared down the hall, and returned a few minutes later carrying five grand slam pizzas. "It seemed rude to just order for myself," he explained. "So I got some for everyone."
He put the pizzas on the sideboard behind his seat, took out a slice, dropped it onto the fine china plate, and began eating it with the fine silver knife and fork, not looking up, but knowing everyone in the now silent room was staring at him. A moment later, there was another knock at the door. "Could someone else get that?" he said. "I'm eating."
Betty went to open the door, and came back a few moments later with the late guest. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Everything looks and smells delicious. Is that pizza?"
At that point one of the other husbands laid his knife and fork down on his lobster and pushed his plate away, and turned to face Finbar. "You got any meatlovers pizza down there?"
Finbar looked down the table and saw Betty's lip trembling as she tried to fight back the tears over her now ruined dinner party. As he chewed his pizza and drained his beer stein of scotch, he could only reflect that life was good.
He doesn't expect to ever be asked back. He doesn't care. For the moment, neither does Sheherezade.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)